


Beginning

by Sorenalice



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorenalice/pseuds/Sorenalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The people still cared a little about Danny Fenton, even though the disasteroid was old news. The people wanted to know about him. What he's been doing and other things he hadn't talked about before. He told them exactly what was on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning

“At the beginning, I didn’t think it was that bad.   
I could help people and I could do things that no one else could.   
It’s kind of a nice feeling, being able to do something like that, knowing that every time you do it, someone will wonder how and why. It’s just so easy for you, but someone else could never be able to do it. It’s yours and only yours. Something that truly belongs to you.  
After what I went through to get these abilities, I think I deserve them. I died halfway to get them, and I try to make it seem like I’m completely fine, but really, I was electrocuted until my heart stopped beating when I was only fourteen years old. I think I lost my life then. I’m still alive, but my life has been mutated and warped into something unrecognizable.  
If you asked me when I was 13 I’d say I never fought- that I was a pacifist, even. I had the strength of a five year old and had never even been in a physical fight.  
Sure there was always bullies, but that’s more of a one sided punishment than an actual fight.  
But the moment I died, there has always been something beneath my skin.  
My parents say that ghosts are naturally violent, and I think I agree. Sure, some ghosts can suppress that instinct to fight everything, but it’s hard.   
When I first met Frostbite, even he was a little violent. He was succumbing to the violent instinct because of his pain.  
Because of my ghost half, I now know how to fight very well, without a whole lot of training- it comes instinctually.  
I changed, to say the least.  
I was hospitalized once.  
But not because of some horrible injury or anything. I just hadn’t slept in nearly 39 hours and I hadn’t eaten much in twice as long. The only reason I was missing meals and sleep was because of ghost fighting.  
That was around where things took a turn.  
My grades were all solid ‘F’s and I could never go out with my friends or do my chores because I was always out fighting.  
So, of course, my life went the way many other’s had.  
I dropped out of high school and applied for a few jobs, but nowhere would keep me for long because I kept running out to fight ghosts.   
At first, I did manage to keep a job, and I got enough money to rent a small apartment in Elmerton. It wasn’t much, but it at least got me out of my parent’s house. I couldn’t live there for much longer when I had the option to leave. They hate Phantom more than anything and almost all of their weapon making abilities are going towards ending him- me. Needless to say, I was a little excited about getting out of there.  
Unfortunately, when I lost my eighth job, I also lost my apartment. I never said anything because I did not want to go back to my parent’s, and to be honest, they already took out the floor of my room so they could build a very tall ghost weapon that didn’t actually end up working.  
I felt bad about squatting at Sam and Tucker’s places for too long, so I would go to their houses for a few nights, then stay at the homeless shelter after.  
Then there was the disasteroid incident.  
The whole world knew who I was and loved me. I couldn’t really stay at the homeless shelter anymore, it would get in the papers and everyone who actually cares about me would yell at me and make me stay with them and then the guilt about mooching off of other people’s houses would be even worse.  
Luckily, people gave me a lot of money because they felt bad that I saved the planet and got nothing in return but maybe a few medals of honor from some governments.  
Suddenly, I had enough money to buy myself a house, and a car, and food.   
It was just small, two bedroom, but is was at least a place of my own. It was sparsely decorated, but it was home. The car was just an old beat up pickup truck. It had a few miles on it, but it still ran. The rest of the money he was given was used for necessities. Groceries, bills, things like that.  
Life had definitely taken an upward swing.  
Until, as always, someone had to see someone else’s existence as a threat to their own.  
The hate groups nearly burned down my house.  
They saw me as dangerous. One metaphor they used was: “It is like a dog, it may protect you and serve you, but one day that dog will bite back.”   
They didn’t consider me human, so I was an ‘it’ to them. They did everything in their power to ruin my life. They photoshopped pictures of me doing immoral things, or doing odd things, or even just because of the way I dressed sometimes.  
Sam broke up with me because they photoshopped a picture of me making out with someone else. aI tried to tell her it was fake, but it was more of a ‘last straw’ type deal. She told me I hadn’t been paying any attention to her and was basically ignoring and avoiding her. This was also because of the ghost hunting.”What’s the point of dating if I only see you once a week?” She would say.  
But unfortunately, the award money ran out, and I was still without a job because, hey, nobody will hire a superhero if that superhero doesn’t have any skills that aren’t superhero-ing and never actually finished high school. I got my GED, but because of the hate groups spewing rumors that was also usually ignored.  
I eventually had to sell my house and lived out of my truck for a while, but soon enough it broke down and I didn’t have enough money to fix it.  
So I existed. People weren’t really curious enough about me- unless they were a part of hate groups- to care that I was homeless. And, to be honest, I prefer it that way.  
I know a lot of people look up to me as their hero, and I don’t want them to see me like this. I don’t want them to know how far I’ve fallen.  
I try to hide myself as much as I can. I only come out of the alley way I live in to fight ghosts. I use a nearby drinking fountain for water, and there’s a soup kitchen nearby. All I have to do is put up my hood and look down. Nobody recognizes me.  
I suppose that’s what hurts the most.  
After all I’ve been through, after all I’ve done, all I have to do is hide my head a little, and I look broken and shattered enough that nobody even spares me a second glance.  
I’ve saved some of these people from burning buildings before, and all they do is ignore me. Because I am homeless, I am a stain on society. I am a half ghost, I am a dangerous freak of nature who should be put down.   
People forget that I’m only half ghost. That I’m human too, and I was human first. They forget that when I was fourteen, I died so that I could protect everyone. They forget that I’m still very young and even though I abandoned them a long time ago, I still have dreams.  
When I was young I wanted to fly through the stars more than anything. I wanted to walk on the moon and see the earth from space.  
I still do.  
But because of what I choose to do, I will never accomplish them.”

The interviewer stared at me in shock. It was a good thing he was recording this because he had stopped taking notes a long time ago. He slowly looked at the camera filming us and tried to collect himself.  
“W-well, folks. That was Danny Fenton, also known as Danny Phantom, updating us on his life, his opinions, and sharing his story. Mr. Fenton, are there any last things you would like to say?”  
He looked at me, his eyes shining with sympathy, and nodded. I smiled, knowing what he wanted me to say, so I said something else. I gave the public everything, but I wouldn’t give them that. So I turned into the glaring studio lights and looked out at the crew. One man was crying while he held up the microphone. I stared straight into the camera, and allowed my ghost half to slip through enough for my voice to echo.

“Tip your waiters and don’t smoke.”


End file.
